Isla, daughter of Captain Jones, and Harry are young kids aboard the M.S. Gallant when pirates attack. Placed on the one and only life boat, the two escape to a nearby deserted island where they live in solitude for more than a decade.
➝ TRAILER: ht...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Welcome to M.S. Gallant, my sweet girl!" Isla's father, Captain Jones, yells from the helm of his ship. One of the many crewmates grabs her luggage and helps her aboard.
"Papa!" She yells, running to her father's arms. Eager to see him again, she trips over the bottom hem of her dress.
"Isla, darling, are you okay?" Her father says, picking her up from the ground. "I have been awaiting your arrival. Let me get a good look at my clumsy daughter." She briefly feels her dad's arms tighten around her before he kneels down to her eye level. "You've grown far too much since I saw you last. Has that grandmother of yours been taking good care of you?"
"She has." Isla smiles as her father adjusts the blue satin ribbon on her large sunhat.
It's been nearly a month since the last time she saw Captain Jones. Before her mother passed away a couple years ago, her and Isla would often meet her dad at port and travel with him abroad for months at a time.
They were at sea when influenza claimed her mother's life and her dad has blamed himself for her passing ever since, claiming that she would have survived if she had been on land with proper medical assistance. That was also the last day he let Isla sail with him. Until today, that is.
"We will be raising the anchor any minute now. You are to remain on the main deck and in my sight at all times, understood?"
"Aye aye, Captain!"
With a smile and kiss to her forehead, Captain Jones stands back up to resume his job leading the ship and its many workers. "Assume your stations, men! Brazil awaits!"
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Salty water spritzes her face, awaking Isla from her nap. When she notices her father is no longer at the wheel of the ship, she decides to take the opportunity to explore.
Her dad has manned a myriad of vessels throughout the years, but the Gallant is one of the most beautiful. With its sails spanning over 100-feet in the air, the British red ensign flag waves at the top of the highest mast, letting onlookers know that it's a merchant vessel.
The operation on the main deck is fascinating. Crew members run from side to side, guiding the ship across the open waters. The man watching from the eagle's nest looks for any signs of threat. And that's just on the surface. Below, carpenters and gunners cover the interior positions and sleeping crewmates rest before their night shift.
It was all a part of a culture that Isla was very familiar with, yet it never ceases to amaze her.
"What are the risks if we go this way, Desmond?" She hears a familiar voice coming from a nearby deck cabin. Peeking through the window, she sees her father speaking with one of the ship's workers.
"Fire coral surrounds this area, sir." The other man, Desmond, drags a finger across the map that lays in front of him and the captain. "But if we go too far east, we heighten our chances of running into hostiles. I insist we go around this way."
"How much time would that add to the trip?" Her father's expression turns stern.
"Around two weeks, sir."
"Two weeks? That'll put us over our deadline, Styles. Unacceptable." Her father grabs his quill and begins marking the map. "Let's stay en route. When we get to the fire coral, we'll move approximately 200 meters east. That should keep us out of pirate territory."
"Pirates?" She gasps. The two men shoot their glances toward the window where she stands. She ducks down and scurries like a field mouse found, and runs away before they get a chance to see her eavesdropping.
"BOOM! POW!" A young voice exclaims from the front of the ship, pulling Isla from her thoughts. She turns to find a boy hanging over the edge, miming shooting a gun at the water.
In all the years that she has spent at sea with her father, she's never seen anyone remotely close to her age. The broom propped up beside him suggests that he's a worker on the boat. His mop of long, curly brown hair is tousled about with each shot of his imaginary weapon.
"ISLA JONES!" Her father's voice echoes across the sea's air, making every muscle in her body tense up. She knew she wasn't allowed to wander so close to the edge of the ship, but couldn't help myself. Something about the boy's behavior makes her eager to learn about what's below.
"Coming, father!" She responds, already planning her escape back out here tonight. She's always been too curious for her own good.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
